Reason Number Four
by hannahsoapy
Summary: On Monday, at 4:37pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms. And at 4:39pm, and 4:44pm, and 4:57pm... it's been a lot of Mondays. Time loop/Groundhog Day fic, with a bit of a twist. Phil/Clint
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I read a bunch of time loop fics this week, so of course that meant I wanted to write one myself. I intended it to be a little more crack-y, but it sorta gained a mind of its own. Oops.

* * *

On Monday, at 4:37pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms.

The archer turns angry eyes on the artifact they'd come for, sitting on the table, unharmed and unaffected by the violence it had caused.

He draws an explosive arrow, aims, and fires.

The world explodes into a wash of light.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:50am, Phil spots Clint walking ahead of him, going into the Shield offices. He's not due in to the office for the briefing for another three hours, and he's never early.

"Barton!" Phil calls, determined to get to the root of this quickly. Clint jumps at the sound of his voice, and nearly falls over as he tries to turn around too fast. Phil stares at him. He looks terrible. His face is drawn, his eyes are puffy and red, and the state of his hoodie is not to be commented on. He's also staring at Phil like he can't believe his own eyes. A strangled sob comes out of his throat, and he lurches forward, grabbing Phil in a hug that nearly crushes his ribs.

"Barton," Phil wheezes, and the archer does relax his grip, fractionally, leaning back to look up at him.

"You're alive. How are you alive? I can't believe it," Clint is saying, mostly to himself. Phil quickly runs through the possibilities, eliminating several right off the bat. He's left with three options. He needs more information.

"Barton," he says again, and then, more forcefully, "Clint." This gets his attention. "Clint, what day was it yesterday?"

Clint looks bewildered. "Monday?"

Phil sighs.

"Clint, you're stuck in a time loop," he tells him, watching as the archer processes this information. Phil takes the opportunity to guide him inside the Shield building, and into his office. Clint seats himself heavily in one of the chairs in front of Phil's desk.

"Clint," Phil says, gently, "talk to me. I need you to tell me what happened in the first Monday."

Clint's eyes, wild and bloodshot, meet his. "Okay," he croaks.

.

.

.

Monday, at 4:39pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms, clutching his tac vest, and trying to tell him something.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:50am, Phil spots Clint running towards him as he walks toward his Shield office. He's not due in for the briefing for another three hours, and he's never early.

Phil's mind is already running possibilities. He doesn't have time to ask, though, because his arms are suddenly full of archer. He pats Clint's back soothingly.

"Phil," Clint says, with a broken voice, into his previously immaculate suit jacket. "I'm stuck in a time loop."

"Good," he says, and Clint jerks back a bit.

"Good?!"

"Yes," Phil says, calmly. "The other two options are very tricky. This is much easier."

Clint's gaping at him like a fish out of water. "I thought it was weird when you took this well yesterday."

"It's not the first cycle for you, then? Even better. Come on, let's go. My office."

.

.

.

Monday, at 4:44pm, Phil, clutching Clint's tac vest, gasps something to him, before dying in his arms.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:04am, Phil has just sat down with his coffee in his breakfast nook, when his doorbell rings. He checks the time, frowns, and gets up to answer the door, sliding the gun from under the table into the waistband of his pajama pants.

He peers through the peephole, and sees Clint, looking wild eyed and desperate, standing on his doorstep. His mind runs through the possibilities, as he opens the door.

Clint immediately barrels through and gives him a bone-crushing hug.

"Alternate universe, time travel, or time loop," he manages to ask, despite the lack of breathing that's happening.

"Time loop," Clint says, voice muffled in Phil's sleep shirt.

"Ah," says Phil. "How many cycles has it been?"

"This is my fourth Monday," Clint finally lets him breathe. "The worst fucking Monday of my life."

"It does usually feel like that," Phil says. "Alright, talk to me Barton. I'll make breakfast."

.

.

.

On Monday, at 4:57pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:04am, Phil has just sat down with his coffee in his breakfast nook, when his doorbell rings. He checks the time, frowns, and gets up to answer the door, sliding the gun from under the table into the waistband of his pajama pants.

He peers through the peephole, and sees Clint, looking wild eyed and desperate, and Natasha, eyeing him a bit skeptically, standing on his doorstep.

His mind runs through the possibilities, as he opens the door.

Clint immediately barrels through and wraps his arms around Phil. He pats Clint's back soothingly, and opens his mouth to ask, but Clint says, "Time loop," before he can ask.

"Good," he says. "Morning to you too, Natasha. How many cycles has it been?"

Natasha acknowledges him with a nod. Clint pulls back from the hug.

"Five. Where in the world did you get alternate universe and time travel, anyway?"

Phil thinks back to his aborted question.

"There are only four scenarios in which you know my address. Only three are currently possible," he explains.

"Are you telling me you've met alternate universe me? And time travel me?"

"You two are not allowed to meet," Phil says.

"Aw, Phil," Clint whines. Phil fights back a smile.

"Not happening," he says, firmly. "Now, talk to me Barton. I'll make breakfast. What cycle are you on?"

.

.

.

On Monday, at 5:01pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:04am, Phil opens his door, and Clint barrels through, wraps his arms around him, and mutters, "Time loop," before he can ask. Natasha walks in behind him.

"Good," he says. "Morning to you too, Natasha. How many cycles has it been?"

Natasha acknowledges him with a nod. Phil pats Clint's back soothingly. The hug goes on for several more seconds, until Phil finally has to repeat himself, "How many cycles, Clint?"

"Sixteen," Clint says, his voice breaking on a sob.

"Ah," says Phil. "And… I've died every time?"

Clint nods into his sleep shirt. He lets the hug continue for a little while longer, and then nudges him.

"Alright, talk to me, Clint. I'll make breakfast."

Clint reluctantly lets him go, and Phil moves to the kitchen. Natasha is perched on the counter, sipping some pilfered coffee.

Clint succinctly gives them the rundown of the day. It's clear he's explained it this way many times before; his recitation is nearly clinical, up until the part where Phil dies every day. When he's done, Phil slides a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Clint frowns at his plate.

"What's wrong?"

"You've made me something different every day," Clint says, "but I've said the exact same things to you. Everyone else does all the same things unless I vary the script."

"You have said something different."

"How would you know?" Clint cries wildly.

"I presume that in your previous cycle, you told me it had been fifteen Mondays?" There's an expression of dawning realization and disbelief on Clint's face.

"You have a-a _protocol_ for breakfasts in a time loop?"

"Of course. You've got to have some variety in your day," he explains. "But we'll be back to pancakes tomorrow; I've reached the bottom of the list."

Clint laughs, a bit hysterically, and he's leaking a few tears, but he's smiling by the time he wipes them away.

"I don't know how you do it," he says. "Sixteen Mondays, and you've surprised me, somehow, every day."

"Maybe this one I'll surprise you and live."

.

.

.

On Monday, at 5:02pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:04am, Phil opens his door, and Clint collapses into his arms, sobbing. He looks at Natasha questioningly. She shrugs.

"He said something about time loops. I'm stealing some of your coffee."

Phil rubs Clint's back comfortingly, up and down, until his sobs have petered out.

"I'm sorry, Clint," he says. The archer snorts.

"Not your fault."

"I hate to ask, but-"

"Yester-Monday you said today was pancakes," Clint interrupts, finally letting go of Phil.

"I see," Phil says. He doesn't know how many times they've been through his list of breakfasts, but it's at least once, by the way Clint's acting.

"I don't know how many more Mondays I can take, Phil," Clint says, when he has a stack of pancakes in front of him.

"We'll get it right, eventually. You just have to hang in there," Phil tells him, although he knows it's not very reassuring. It's just the truth.

.

.

.

On Monday, at 5:06pm, Phil dies in Clint's arms.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:04am, Phil opens his door.

They eat bacon and eggs for breakfast.

.

.

.

On Monday, at 5:23pm, Phil is dying in Clint's arms. They've got it almost right this time; they're so close.

"Talk to me, Barton," coughs Phil, blood spattering out of his mouth. Clint chokes back a sob, tries to think of something to say.

"What was the fourth reason?" He asks. "You said, on Monday number… five, I think, that there were four reasons I might know where you live. You only ever said three of them."

"Alternate universe," Phil rasps.

"Yeah, and then time travel, or a time loop. What was the last one?" Clint presses. Phil coughs up more blood. He's too tired to remember any of the reasons on his list of Why Not To Tell Clint.

"If I-" he hacks up more of his lung "-finally ask you out."

Clint's face is one he'd really love to remember, completely wonderstruck, but he's fading fast.

"You wanted to… _Phil_ ," Clint looks like he might cry now, "I didn't even know."

Phil barely registers the words. He's not really thinking anymore.

"I love you," Phil confesses, and then he is gone.

The world goes white.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:02am, Phil has just finished pouring his cup of coffee when his doorbell rings. He checks the time, frowns, and goes to check the peephole, sliding the gun from under the sink into the waistband of his pajama pants.

Clint is standing on his doorstep, looking a bit wild and desperate, and bouncing on his toes. Natasha, next to him, has a strange glint in her eye. Phil's mind runs through the possibilities as he opens the door.

Clint immediately barrels in, throws his arms around Phil's neck, and kisses him. It's messy, imperfect. Phil doesn't care. He hears Natasha snickering as she moves past them, no doubt to the coffeepot.

"Alternate universe or time travel?" Phil asks, when they finally pull back for air. Clint laughs, and pecks his lips.

"Time loop," he says, "and a little bit of reason number four."

.

.

.

On Monday, at 5:57pm, Phil is lying in Clint's arms in a Shield medical room. Natasha had slipped away with a wink, a few minutes before.

Phil's eyes are closed as they numb the area, prep the needle, and stitch up the wound left in his side by the bullet that grazed him.

The artifact is safely packed away in a padded carrying case.

Clint sighs in contentment, when they're done, and slides down so he's hugging Phil close to him, careful not to jostle the stitches. Phil opens his eyes and smiles up at him.

"You did it," he says.

"We did it," Clint corrects him, smiling back.

"Go on a date with me?" Phil asks. "Tomorrow?"

"I hope you mean Tuesday," Clint says. "I'm done with Mondays."

.

.

.

.

Bonus scene:

"Wait," Clint says, later, in sudden realization. "Does this mean you've kissed other alternate universe and time travel me's before?"

"That's classified."

"…sooo, that's a yes. Huh. I'm feeling weirdly jealous of myself."

* * *

Hope this brought you as many laughs and feels as it brought me while I was writing it! :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, I thought I was done here, but my brain insisted on writing this. I literally wrote it while in class yesterday, lol. This all occurs before the events of chapter one, obviously.

* * *

On Monday, at 6:28am, Phil was just finishing brushing his teeth when there was a knock at his door. He checked his watch, frowned, slid the gun from beneath the bathroom sink into his suit's waistband, and went to answer the door.

The peephole revealed an anxious and frankly wild-looking Clint standing on his doorstep, and Phil honestly had no idea why or how he was standing there.

Well, that wasn't totally true. A Shield agent should always be prepared for any possibility, no matter how far-fetched, so the possible reasons included time travel, a time loop, an alternate universe, and the extremely unlikely scenario that Phil had actually told Clint that he liked him.

(The reasons that this last reason was extremely unlikely were all on a list that Phil had, very practically, called 'Why Not to Tell Clint', and were as follows:

1: He was his subordinate.

2: If he said no, it would be awkward, and a strain on their agent-handler relationship.

3: If he said yes, how could Phil be sure that it wasn't because he was in a position of power over him?

4: It might affect his judgement during a mission. It was very unlikely, but Phil left it on the list anyway.

5: He was a coward who was afraid of rejection, and he'd rather stay in limbo than find out for certain.

And really, that last one just said it all, didn't it?)

He opened the door slowly. Clint looked up, and the quick breath and sudden relief on his face was a sudden, dramatic shift.

"Phil!" The archer cried, and Phil was too startled to do anything when Clint launched himself forward and kissed him. Phil was actually quite pleased by this development, but he was still very confused, so after about ten seconds of very, very nice kissing, he forced himself to pull back, and fixed Clint with his best no-nonsense look.

"Clint, what's going on?" The archer's eyes danced over him for a moment, confused.

"You – you're not… but I thought…" he said, suddenly looking crushed. Phil sighed, softening a little.

"Come on in, talk to me. I'll make you breakfast."

As it turned out, this Clint was from an alternate universe, and in that universe, he and that Phil were together. This universe's Phil couldn't help feeling extremely jealous. Other Clint was very confused.

"Why aren't you with, uh, other me?"

"He's my subordinate," Phil offered lamely, his mouth twisting even as he said it.

"Never stopped other you," said Other Clint. Phil could feel the question burning on his tongue. He really shouldn't ask, but he was weak.

"When did it happen? For you two?"

Other Clint's eyes went all dreamy. "Remember that loooong watch in the rain in Torreon?"

"I can't exactly forget," Phil said dryly, thinking of that long, wet, cold night. They'd been huddled up against each other to stay warm, and he'd been trying to ignore his own bodily reactions, and…

"Oh," he said. "Really?"

Other Clint smirked, bouncing his eyebrows. "My Phil really didn't need much encouragement to take the initiative," he said. "Maybe I should talk to this Clint, find out why the hell he didn't –"

"Nope, nope," Phil cut him off right there. "Not happening. Let's go, we've got to get you back to your universe."

.

Seven hours later, in a secret Shield facility in Nairobi, they finally had something that would send Other Clint back. Phil was definitely not looking forward to the paperwork for this one.

Just before they hit the button, Other Clint looked at him intently, and then leaned forward quickly, pressing his warm lips against Phil's momentarily.

"Go get him, Phil," he said, grinning.

A flash of light filled the room, and when it cleared, Other Clint was gone.

.

.

.

Monday morning, at 6:56am, Phil saw Clint running into the Shield offices ahead of him. He knew the archer would never be up this early unless he was needed for a mission, and he wasn't today. Something was wrong.

"Barton!" Phil called, determined to get to the bottom of this. Clint jumped and turned, and his haggard, drawn appearance shocked Phil. The archer rushed forward upon seeing him, and he found himself in a rib-crushing hug.

"Talk to me, Barton," Phil struggled to breath. Clint promptly loosened his hold but didn't let go of him.

"You're alive," he said, wonderingly.

"Barton," Phil said, forcefully, and the archer's eyes snapped to his intently. "What day was yesterday?"

Clint smiled sadly. "Saturday, four years from now."

Well, at least he was aware that he had time travelled. The more important question was…

"Did you time travel on purpose?"

"Yes," Future Clint said, frowning now. "You're late today."

"By a few minutes," Phil agreed, wincing at the reminder of his tardiness. "The dryer ate one of my socks."

"Yeah, and because of that, you die very horrifically three years and eleven months from now."

Phil stared down at him, speechless.

"Took me about a month to get a vortex manipulator, but you're worth it, babe," Future Clint patted something attached to his arm and smiled up at him.

"You – we're together? In the future?" Phil can't help sounding ridiculously hopeful.

"Don't worry, we get our act together not too long from now," Future Clint said. "Now come on, we've got to fix what happened today."

.

Twelve hours later, they're panting, covered in dust under a hot desert sun, but they've done what needed to be done.

"I don't understand why we couldn't bring Present Clint," Future Clint complained. "Two of me would've made this go so much easier."

Phil shook his head raggedly and tried to catch his breath. "Paradox," he finally managed.

"Damn, forgot about that episode," said Future Clint.

"What?" Phil asked, completely confused.

"Oh. It's from a show. Not out yet, I guess. Although, I always thought it was weird that…," he got a funny look in his eye, and then his jaw dropped a little, "… you cheater! You knew I'd like it and you made that stupid bet with me anyway! Or, I mean, you will?" He added at the end, looking extremely frustrated with himself. "Dammit!"

Phil tried very hard to not look like he was laughing. He didn't think he fooled Future Clint, however.

"You never actually told me what went wrong today," he pointed out. Future Clint stared at him, evidently taking the time to choose what he was going to say.

"Before… your cover was blown. Mission wasn't a total bust, because you're you, but you got put on someone's shit list." He paused, swallowed hard. "It took a while, but… Red Room assassin."

"Black Widow?"

"No, she's essentially a free agent, or will be, soon. Doesn't usually get in our way," he shrugged.

"Hmmm," said Phil, mind whizzing with the new information. "I wonder, if we approach her at just the right time, she'd be an excellent addition to Shield."

"God, you're so crazy," Future Clint sighed, wistfully. "Fuck it," he said, and he closed the gap between them, wrapped an arm around Phil's waist, and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

(It was much better than Alternate Universe Clint's kiss, but Phil really didn't want to get in the habit of comparing the kissing techniques of different iterations of Clint. It seemed a bit like setting a bad precedent.)

"I'd better go," Future Clint said, when he eventually pulled back. "Pretty sure I'll tell you everything if I stick around much longer, and that's never good." He fiddled with the device on his wrist, and then glanced up.

"See you in the future, babe," he said, and then vanished.

Phil's shoulders drooped a little, and he walked back to their transport alone.

.

Five weeks later, he's answering the door at 6:02am, and getting kissed out of his mind by an emotional archer.

"Alternate universe or time travel?"

"Time loop," Present Clint answers with a laugh, "and a little bit of reason number four."


End file.
